Carrots and Sticks

The old man who came to live/visit his daughter across the street this past summer caught my eye almost immediately. He is a very short Hispanic man. He is always impeccably dressed in beautiful, classic clothing. Very tailored and well fitted suits or tailored western shirts and slacks. He is always wearing a hat, mostly a cowboy hat, although he has worn a beret a few times too. He must be in his eighties, maybe even older. He walks with a cane. What made me notice him though was his gait. The Tim Conway shuffle would be giant-step race walking compared to his steps. When he first arrived, he would come out, fully dressed and stand in the front yard for several minutes - sometimes as long as half an hour. And then, he would begin to walk. Down the driveway, to the sidewalk to the far side of the next door neighbor's, then back to his daughter's house. It would take him a very long time -- as long as an hour. That is what caught my eye. I couldn't figure out if he were simply very bored and merely taking his time or what. I was amazed that anyone could take such tiny, tiny steps. Not steps really. Just a small movement of each foot only an inch or even less, each time.

Several days last summer, when I happened to be in the front part of the house when he was out walking, I paused in my own activities to marvel at how slow he could move. My next door neighbor, a woman in her nineties who most often uses a wheel chair for her own mobility, even remarked on his movements to me. She told me he had just been released from the hospital; that his daughter had gone to the Valley and brought him to live with her. That he was miserable and she doubted he would stay.

Well, he has stayed. It has been at least six months and he is still here. Several times as I have been entering or leaving the neighborhood in my car, I have seen him out. In fact, a few times I have waved "hello" to him and he has even waved back. While I was preparing for Thanksgiving I saw him out. Something about seeing him was different, but I was very busy and distracted and pushed it out of my mind. While I was decorating the Christmas tree and the front of the house, I again saw him several times. Again, there was something I needed to notice, but, once again, I pushed it from me.

Then, a couple of days ago, while taking down the tree, it struck me. I was in the living room for several hours, removing ornaments from the tree. When I first began my project, I saw the old man out, walking down the sidewalk. He was wearing a beautiful cream colored western cut suit with his cream colored western hat. He was using his cream colored cane, walking slowly down the sidewalk. I began thinking of how, as a society, we have changed so much in our dress and attitude towards dressing in the last forty to fifty years. When I began removing my wreath from the front door, I noticed the old man entering his daughter's house. Then, several hours later, while I was bringing various decorations to the dining room from other parts of the house, I saw the old man out walking again. This time, he was walking from my side of the street across and back to his side of the street. Then, while preparing dinner, I saw him out once again; walking up the sidewalk. Wait. He is walking up the sidewalk. The opposite direction. The direction that ends at the top of a pretty short but steep climb. Hey! Come to think of it, this afternoon, he was crossing the street in front of my house. That means he was walking up the street, crossing over to my side, and then walking to the end on my side and walking up his own side, back to his daughter's house! Wait! According to walkjogrun, that is a .37 mile walk! And, he is walking it three times a day! There's more. His gait is vastly different! He is taking actual steps. Very short steps, but steps nonetheless.

I should be ashamed of myself. This old, old man who has been very ill, has made great progress while I have, literally, sat on my butt. I still have good health. Yet, I am destroying it. A blasphemy to the good health with which my life has been blessed. If I truly believe that life is scared, shouldn't I being living proof that it is by taking care of myself? By taking care of this wonderful body I have inherited?

Don't I have the where-with-all to accomplish any goal I set in this area? Haven't I been given the mind plus all the working parts to get it done? Haven't I instead, used procrastination, laziness, instant gratification and denial as adolescent, even childish tools against my own self? How smart is that?